Page 122 of Beautiful Betrayal

“He knew everything,” she explains. “He told me I had two choices. Fight back or shut up.”

“Fight back how?” Reese asks, traveling exactly where I want him to travel.

“He offered to buy me a gun.”

Reese’s head tilts slightly. “Are you or have you ever slept with him?”

“Never.”

“Are you intimate with him in any way?”

Her lips flatten. “Never.”

“Are you friends?” he asks, continuing to press.

“No,” she says, as she said to me as well.

“Then how,” Reese says, “did you have a conversation about buying a gun with him?”

She inhales and exhales. “He saw my bruises. He caught me off guard one day or he wouldn’t have. I had practice. I knew how to hide them.” She gives a choked laugh. “That’s why everyone wants me to do their makeup. I’m good with makeup.” She swallows hard. “He said—he wanted to talk to Mitch.”

“Did he reject the idea of his brother beating you?” Reese asks.

She scoffs. “No. He didn’t even blink, but he insisted on talking to Mitch. I begged him not to. He said he would not.”

“Did he talk to Mitch?” Reese asks.

“He says he didn’t. I believe he did.”

“Why?” Reese asks.

“Because that night I was lectured on keeping our life private.”

“Lectured or beaten?” Reese asks.

“He broke my arm,” she states matter-of-factly.

“The medical records are in the file,” I interject, tapping the folder still in front of him. “There are five separate incidents that required she see a doctor. All of which she called accidents.”

“Did the brother,” he glances at me and I supply, “Jim,” before he continues with, “Did Jim know about your broken arm?”

“Yes,” she says. “He told me that he didn’t tell his brother. That he knows Mitch is crazy. He told me to be careful and that Mitch’s first wife had an ‘accident’ and died.”

“She fell while they were hiking in Colorado,” I interject. “It was investigated and closed quickly, but the interesting thing is that her friends claim she was about to file for divorce.”

Reese’s lips press together and he glances at his watch and then at Delaney. “I have to go.” He pauses and studies her two long beats before he asks. “Did your husband deserve to die?”

“It wasn’t about him deserving to die. It was about me deserving to live. And that night it came down to me living ordying. I didn’t make the decision to kill him. I made the decision to live.”

He studies her for two more beats. “Do you deserve to go to jail?”

Her lashes lower and then lift. “I don’t know.I don’t know. I feel very confused.”

He inclines his chin and then says, “I’ll chat with Mia and we’ll set-up another meeting. Do you want me to be involved with your defense?”

“I do,” Delaney replies.

“And what do you hope that you’ll get from my involvement?”

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